The Gala

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Chapter 2


Sophie perched on the bed in her new Highbury residence, almost hyperventilating with relief. The tension and the all-consuming, claustrophobic fear gradually faded. She'd done it. She had succeeded against all odds. Moved from Derek's, found a home, and no one, no one, was any the wiser.

She waited until Carol had departed for her audition before contemplating her laden car. The entire Volkswagen Beetle was chock-full of boxes. Hoisting items out of the boot, she ferried crates, cartons and suitcases into her new dwelling, up the stairs and into her tiny room. Minuscule or not, this room was her castle. She deposited her things, cluttering the space further by building a labyrinth of boxes. The walls of the cramped area appeared to somehow inch closer.

She ripped open suitcases until she found her bed linen and fixed her bed: her first act of settling in. Feelings of loneliness encased her heart. The deafening silence of the empty house prompted her to dig out and switch on her portable digital radio. She set the station to something up beat. This wasn't the time to listen to soppy love songs or lyrics of unrequited love. There certainly wouldn't be any more self-pitying tears. For she had another mission tonight, the clock was ticking toward the gala event.

Sophie composed herself; at this point she should focus on what to wear to the gala.

As she stepped into the only cocktail dress she'd brought from Derek's house, elation pulsated through her. Everything would work out. The flat. The room. Maybe Derek. Possibly even Matthew Silver.

She stretched a fake fur wrap around her shoulders to complete the outfit. She was prepared. Sophie plucked her handbag from her bedroom floor and dashed out of the apartment.

On the street corner nearby she hailed a taxi. Only then could she relax, for she was right on track to finally meet Matthew Silver.

***

The taxi swerved. The seat belt strangled Sophie's body, holding her flush against the car seat. The vehicle cut across three lanes of traffic, racing a sleek, black Porsche. "I think it's just a few more blocks away," Sophie blurted. "I really don't mind if we slow down a little." The driver didn't seem to hear because the taxi whirled through the city streets, neck and neck with the Porsche. Neither car slowed.

The hotel appeared in the distance. The taxi's indicator clicked on and off as the driver veered. "Maybe we don't need to go so fast, since we're practically there," she whimpered, looking fearfully out the window. A chill crept up Sophie's spine as the taxi deviated, interfering with the Porsche's path. Sophie whispered a final prayer as tyres screeched. The Porsche came to a screeching stop on the main road to avoid the collision. Thank God.

The taxi burst into the hotel driveway, overshot the doorway entrance and parked near the roadside. Sophie would have to walk back to the entrance. Feeling faint, her gaze darted warily around. "We made it." A grateful sigh escaped her lips, everyone was intact, no crash. The taxi driver panted like he'd run a marathon.

"I got you here in record time."

Sophie nodded shakily and thrust the door open. Why did every man want to be a racing car driver? One leg and then the other found the safety of the pavement beside the vehicle. She handed the driver twenty pounds, and shut the door. The taxi jerked towards the street.

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